


Warning

by Unified Multiversal Theory (nightgigjo)



Series: Prompted: HP/SPN [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: (though I don't want to call it racebending anymore as Black!Hermione is CANON), Black Hermione Granger, Crossover, First attempts at racebending, Gen, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8524375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightgigjo/pseuds/Unified%20Multiversal%20Theory
Summary: Via putthepromptsonpaper - "Random thought – could you maybe leave me and my family the duck alone?" Rated T for (one instance of) language and the usual Winchester posturing.





	

In the relative silence of the motel room, Dean's phone went off. Puzzled, he dug the thing out of his pocket and flipped it open. The name that popped up wasn't one he recognized, so he shut it again. Sam, stretched out on the bed with the laptop on his stomach, looked up from the screen inquiringly.

"No idea," Dean shrugged, dumping the cell phone onto the nearby table, along with the rest of his pockets' contents. Falling bonelessly into the room's one chair, he rummaged through the tumble of paper bags that had once contained their dinner, searching the bottom of each for the last few fries that would have invariably fallen out of the cardboard containers. He crowed in triumph as he fished a handful out, dropping them carelessly into one half of his hamburger carton.

Before he'd had a chance to take a bite out of the first one, his phone beeped again. Dean glanced over to his brother, who simply raised an eyebrow.

Dean flipped his phone open again, this time to reveal a text message from the same caller.

_Look_ , it said, _I know you have no reason to trust me, but there is something wrong with your brother. If you want my help, call me. - H_

Scowling at the phone, Dean pounded the keys, then paused only a moment before hitting Send. _Who is this?_

Moments later the message tone sounded again. _You hit on me at the bar. The "Brit chick"._

Dean's frown deepened at this revelation. He remembered her, sure, but he had no idea how she'd gotten his number – he'd never gotten the chance. When he felt a prickle on the back of his neck, Dean looked up to see Sam glaring at him, with a strange gleam in his eye. He was annoyed, sure, but something about his expression was off, somehow. There was a glint, hard and suspicious, in his brother's enquiring stare.

"Wrong number," Dean lied. Sam's raised eyebrow told him exactly how believable that wasn't, but he still didn't press Dean for the truth. They'd both been around this dance floor enough times to know when they were going to get _I don't wanna talk about it_ for an answer.

Dean settled in to polish off the rest of the fries, and Sam went back to his research. The cell phone didn't bother to ring again.

After an agitated couple of beers, Dean excused himself to the bathroom. The light above the sink was ancient, the frosted glass globe pinned into the weathered brass fixture with painted-over screws, yellowed bulb shining fitfully through a couple years' worth of dust. The pedestal sink itself was, miraculously, strong enough to lean against, and Dean took up position there, examining the messages again under the weak lamplight.

_There's something wrong with your brother._  
  
Didn't he just know it.

This woman – this stranger – could apparently see whatever was going on with Sammy, this weirdness that Dean had, thus far, steadfastly refused to acknowledge. With a crack the phone snapped shut again, and the elder of the Winchesters rubbed his face with a calloused hand. Sighing, he turned to go back out into the room. As his vision fell across the tiny bathroom window, he stopped dead: in the deeper shadows of the trees, he could just make out the silhouette of someone petite and bushy-haired making her way across the parking lot.

Not even pausing to curse, Dean stalked out of the motel, muttering some excuse to Sam, but not without picking up a sidearm. He didn't bother with stealth, instead striding across the parking lot directly toward the figure, who was, albeit more hesitantly, approaching Baby.

"Your brother is in danger," she began, without preamble, the whites of her eyes flashing in the near-darkness. She was nearly invisible, dark skinned as she was, leaning against Baby's hood in the shadows.

Dean was instantly on the defensive. "What could you possibly know about my brother?"

The woman scoffed and shook her head. "Something's not right with him. He's...gotten into something, and I can help him get out of it."

_The trials,_ he thought. _She's trying to talk us out of the trials._

Dean's jaw clenched, and his left hand found the hip flask of holy water in his back pocket. "Yeah," he grunted, "we're fine."

"I have an idea," she said, face a mask of suppressed rage, "why don't you stop acting so macho-melodramatic and let me help you?"

"Or how about you leave me and my family the fuck alone?" he retorted, fist clenching tighter around the grip of the .45.

**Author's Note:**

> Via putthepromptsonpaper, with a little racebending (Hermione, natch). Not part of any existing AU, but I really like how this one turned out, so it might make an appearance somewhere, or grow into a WIP of its own.


End file.
